Ardentesque micant per freta longa faces;
Pro servis dominus moritur, pro sontibus insons,
Pro ægroto medicus, pro grege pastor obit,
Pro populo nex mactatur, pro milite ductor,
Proque opere ipse opifex, proque homine ipse Deus:
Quid servus, sons, ægrotus, quid grex, populusque,
Quid miles, quid opus, quidve homo solvat? Amet."
The present holy season has brought to my recollection the above beautiful lines, which were shown up some fifty years ago, for long copy, by a schoolfellow at Blundell's school, Tiverton, and copied into my scrap-book. I think they are from the Poemata of Joannes Audoenus, but am not sure of it; of this, however, I am sure, they cannot be better made known to the world than by your excellent publication.
William Collyns.
Harlow.